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tarithenurse · 16 days ago

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I see fire - 12

Fandom: D&D 5E/homebrew campaign. Word count: 2227. Contents: Loads of violence and mystery. A/N: Any questions are welcome. Please comment and like and reblog. Let me know if you want a tag. Divider by @firefly-graphics

XII

Two hours on, the trio reaches where the trees thin, making room for a wide shore around a lake. It’s really quite beautiful, the vast lake glittering in the sun and golden sand rimming it. There’s a trail that leads on towards a small setup of stones. Gravestones. Heading to them, the friends keep an eye out for anything, noting the drag marks on the ground and the signs of a struggle closer to the graves.

But nothing happens.

Not wanting to just go back without having fulfilled their promise, the little group decides on a more initiative rich approach and Anvindr, before the girls can caution him, goes and sticks his head under the water to look around. Next thing they know, he disappears under the surface with a splosh!

Without having to think twice, the girls charge after the disappeared genasi, submerging themselves in the cool water. Thankfully, it’s rather clear and it doesn’t take them long to notice the flailing of their friend who is being dragged towards a patch of kelp by something that sort of looks like a horse and sort of doesn’t due to the fact that half of its body absolutely is not that of a horse but looks more like a fish or an eel. It has its tongue wrapped around Anvindr who just then manages to slice it bad enough for it to let go.

What they are fighting is, they guess, a kelpie. Zilvra has read about them in books of myths and strange places, never thinking she’d ever face one but well, here it is.

It’s a stunningly short fight where particularly Morella and Anvindr manage a perfect partnership in the form of a spiky growth reaching around the kelpie thanks to the druid, and Anvindr’s little turret continuously pressing it back into the growth with its shots.

By they time the fight is over, all three are soaked and Anvindr is bleeding profusely but they feel accomplished as they drag the corpse of the kelpie on to the shore.

“C’mere,” the Fey elf shakes the water out of her hair as she gestures to Anvindr.

Joining her obediently, he’s rewarded with a healing spell that mostly restores him to his former glory.

“This’ll take a while but you don’t want to get cold,” Zilvra joins them, waving the magic from her fingers and onto their clothes that dry piece by piece.

They decide to cut off the long tongue and bring it with them as proof of the kill and by the time they make it back to the logging camp, the sun is a palm’s width from the horizon and another cart is being laden with planks, soon ready to be sent off.

Mister Lockett is easy to find, they just have to follow the sound of his booming voice and thankfully the workers don’t seem to mind the interruption that is the trio appearing.

“Back already?” Orick asks, surveying the seemingly untouched friends.

Anvindr tosses the wound up tongue on the stump nearby. “Yeah, monster dealt with,” he smiles.

“It was a kelpie...which is odd, really,” Morella chimes in, “they’re from the Fey Wild too and shouldn’t really be here?”

Orick scratches his head. “Never heard of ‘em.”

“Regardless, we’d be happy if you’d write a few words we can take with us back to master Tio,” Zilvra asks.

“Ha!” a dry laugh erupts from one of the workers sitting on the logs nearby, causing the trio to look to them confused.

Thankfully, Orick just scoffs and promises to do as asked but Anvindr can’t let it go.

“You may be a man of opinions...but are you as strong as they are? How ‘bout an arm wrestling match?”

The worker that had disapproved of the note (and his friends) look the genasi up and down, clearly not impressed with the stature of the blue man but something makes him hesitate.

“It’s a simple thing,” Anvindr promises, “we play, one wins, no hard feelings.”

“What’s going on here?” a new voice asks.

It belongs to a man just past his prime who doesn’t look like one of the workers: he’s dressed differently including a red cloth around his neck.

“Nothing, it seems,” Anvindr answers a bit disappointed, “seems he isn’t keen on a match with me despite thinking he had anything to say in a conversation that didn’t include him.”

The newcomer looks to the guy the genasi indicates with a crooked smile. “Couldn’t keep his opinions to himself? Better be a man and back up your words, Gerick.”

And so an impromptu arm wrestling match is prepared, some of the workers even taking bets against their friend despite Anvindr’s lithe frame. Good thing too! The moment the clasped hands are released for the match to start, the artificer overwhelms the lumber jack, slamming his fist into the stump where once a mighty tree grew. There’s cheering and swearing, but Zilvra’s eyes are fixed on the stranger who had smiled even before the match was decided.

“How’d you do that?” Gerick mutters, rubbing his knuckles.

Anvindr smiles. “My apologies, I might not look like much but my armour fortifies me. To be honest,” he continues, “this match was a test to see if it truly worked.”

“Yeah well it does!”

“No hard feelings?” Anvindr holds a hand out to shake.

Gerick looks at it contemplatively but then grasps it with a smile. “Deal’s a deal. Might have to hook me up with an armour like that though.”

“One of a kind, sorry.”

“Yeah no worries.”

Gerick and his friends take off, needing to get some more work done before the evening bell but the latecomer stays.

“I’m heading out tomorrow...” the stranger says, mostly to the genasi though not trying to prevent the other two thirds of the trio from hearing, “but I could use someone like you.”

“Oh?” Morella steps closer, looking the guy up and down.

He nods. “I heard you work for Tio but if you want to be free of Stouvania...I could help you. And,” he continues, pointedly looking over Anvindr’s armour, “I know some people who are good with tinkering.”

Of course the artificer’s curiosity is kindled but not so much so that he doesn’t ask what sort of work the man has in mind. Turns out to be protection of transports, mostly, maybe some investigative work once they’ve proved themselves.

“But it’s up to you...who you’d rather work for,” the guy finishes.

“Can we think about it?” Zilvra asks.

He nods. “As I said, I leave tomorrow.”

Taking some time before supper to wander the area of the logging camp, the trio reevaluate what they’ve experienced so far and what people have told them, leading them to conclude that not all is as shiny as Stouvania would like it to seem. Especially the talk with Paul Davis, the marshal in Oldgarde, had been an eye opener.

“Noticed this guy’s scarf?” Zilvra asks the others quietly.

“Mhmmm,” Morella agrees.

Turning to look behind the group, she waves at someone and when Zilvra checks, she sees the man in question keeping and eye on them from the porch.

“So what should we do?” the genasi asks.

“I don’t feel like walking away from an unfinished job,” the drow announces.

Apparently, neither do the other two.

“But work both sides at once?” It’s clear that Morella wouldn’t be comfortable with it and while Zilvra is less disinclined, she decides not to push any of her new friends to do something they’re not comfortable with.

The decision does indeed land on at least finishing the quests for Tio and then reevaluate at a later moment. But it’s worth it to know that there are other options out there.

“Ugh,” Anvindr runs a hand over his face, “it’s so different from what I’m used to. So...big!”

“What do you mean?” the eladrin wants to know.

Anvindr has sometimes spoken of his people, a relatively small clan exiled from their true home, the Plane of Air. Now he explains how the clan holds no more than a hundred people if even that many but is one of several clans. There is no official ruler, but a council consisting of people chosen for the specific problem that needs solving thus ensuring that the best suited are in charge when needed.

“And you guys?” he wonders.

Morella just shrugs, she can’t recall.

“Probably more like here, but different too,” Zilvra can say. “We have a monarchy, our queen is elected but has a council that she appoints.”

“Speaking of nothing,” Anvindr suddenly changes the subject, “what’s with your dagger? You always fidget with it!”

The drow laughs quietly. “Oh, that’s just because I’m restless. It was a gift from my mentor, it was the first weapon with which I trained and she told me to become one with it...so I did. Now I only carry it for sentimental and fidgety reasons.”

“A bit of home,” Morella offers.

“Yeah.”

“I have a bit of home too,” the druid smiles, holding out two items: a silver pinecone and a small glass jar with what looks like annoyed bees in it.

The other two look are bit baffled at the latter. “Bees?”

Also Morella is studying them carefully. “Yeah...but they normally don’t buzz around like that.”

She clicks her tongue and then pulls out the claw from the kelpie. The moment she brings it closer to the jar, the angrier the bees get.

“Maybe they are enemy detectors?” she wonders.

“That could come in handy,” Anvindr decides.

The trio head back to the house for food; the bell’s already going, calling the workers for their supper which they are being served outside. The lumber jacks find random places to sit on logs and stumps or the stairs of the porch, but the trio gets to eat in the kitchen where Orick pours some wine and Mrs Lockett (a stout redhead of a woman) joins with a good-natured complaint about the men. The still nameless guy that has offered the alternative future is there too.

“Good thing you could take care of that monster,” Orick is saying as he helps pass out the full plates, “everything’s been peaceful for ages but then...two weeks ago! I say, I ran as fast as I could.”

Two weeks ago, the trio hadn’t met each other yet. Time flies. Morella taps her fingers softly on the table, seemingly far away, frowning.

“What’s wrong?” Anvindr asks.

At the same time, the nameless man cocks his head. “What’s that sound?”

There is indeed a droning or buzzing sound and it takes little time to realize it’s coming from Morella’s pouch. She pulls out the jar of bees, finding that they are going crazy – so much so that the glass jar shakes when she places it on the table.

Someone yells outside and next instant the man has shoved Morella aside, beautifully making sure that she’s not hit by the storm of splinters and water that shoots through the wall.

It’s as though everything happens in slow motion: Zilvra sees how Morella recovers from the push and the man gets to his feet in a fluid movement, pulling two short swords that look eerily familiar even in the moment.

Then everything snaps back into speed and she finds herself following her friends in the wake of the man outside to deal with whatever threat has appeared.

Even running towards it, Zilvra can’t think much else than “fish” because there’s something distinctly fishy about the humanoid facing them: a serpentine or fishy lower body holds up an almost turquoise upper body that still is covered in scales and has gills, around it hovers three orbs of water and in its hand is a simple rusty dagger.

A snarl and a puff can be heard as Morella shifts into her wolf form, launching herself at the creature side by side with Zilvra...but one of the orbs hits the drow in the chest, tossing her backwards where she slams hard against a stack of logs. At least Anvindr has better luck shooting from a distance.

It’s a messy fight but it leads to a victory for the trio and the man although Zilvra ends up taking more of a beating that she wants to – still she kills the creature by shooting it in the eye (a pretty shot right past the nose of the man).

Morella, still in her wolf form, is sniffing the corpse as the drow limps over. Another puff as the druid returns to her usual form, allowing her to pat her friend with a healing touch.

“I know this...this is a marrow,” the eladrin announces. “They are Fey too. I’ve smelt them before near Oldgarde.”

Anvindr’s head snaps up to regard her. “This one specifically or...?”

“Dunno.”

Zilvra has already taken it upon her to search the corpse for any clues but she finds nothing except for the rusty dagger that isn’t worth holding onto and a spell focus – a little bauble with glowing water inside.

“They are an underwater race,” Morella is saying, “relatively primitive but fierce warriors and some of them are capable of magic as we’ve just seen...they are the ones that look more human like.”

“Looks like it was a lonely one,” the nameless man sighs, “but we better keep watch tonight.”

#writing #D&D #homebrew campaign #D&D campaign #oc #Dungeons and dragons #fantasy #DND #story #D&D 5e homebrew #dnd

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moorishflower · 2 years ago

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a fic I'm reading in a different fandom references the Chinese fable of the Magpie Bridge a lot, and while reading, I couldn't help but think, okay, but this could also be a great concept for a Dreamling fic 🤔

Two lovers, one a goddess, one human, so their love is forbidden. Separated by the Milky Way, they can only meet once a year when a flock of magpies form a bridge across for them.

Swap in 100 years for 1 year and ravens for magpies and there you have it!

oh this is a GOOD one

there are so many good bird-related fables and folk tales! I've been tooling around with the idea of a Dreamling AU of the Crane Wife story, especially because it's one of my favorite songs/series of songs by The Decemberists.

Like, imagine Hob, poor, humble, a mercenary in a time of peace, laid down his sword, and he's glad of it, he's SO glad, but his sword was what brought him coin, and now he has nothing. He has a little house that was gifted to him, and a little copse of woods in which he can hunt and cut wood, but winter is coming on, and the house wants for repairs, and he has no money to purchase supplies. He's doing the best he can and winter is so cold.

The stars fall like streaks of rain on glass, the twilight sky a scattering of silver and bruisy blue, and it is December 1st, and Hob Gadling chops wood for the fire. Stupid, to let the embers dwindle, and he with no logs to feed it, and the sun sinking deep below the horizon. It's bitter cold in daylight, and already the chill bites into his fingers, and numbs his hold on the axe.

Dangerous, to chop wood at night, in the dark, in the cold. Dangerous, too, to fall asleep in a cottage that's more holes than thatch, where the wind whistles at him through the timbers, with a dead hearth and thin blankets.

So Hob chops wood, and tells himself he's grateful for the chance the king has given him. For services rendered to the crown, a home and a plot of land in times of peace. A princely gift indeed. And perhaps, when winter thaws, they will find his body curled upon the bed, frozen stiff, with a dead hearth and empty pockets. Firewood, he thinks, does not buy food. A run-down cottage does not put clothes upon your back.

He sets the axe down to blow into his hands, and the stars blow like milk across the sky, a beautiful line of white that he tracks with his eyes, as though he could navigate by that curling stream. The temptation to return to his cottage, to bundle up beneath his few blankets and await the dawning, is sorely tempting.

The winter is bitter cold, and Hob reaches for the axe again.

The third sapling is not yet even half-felled before he's interrupted by a shout. Hunters come, sometimes, to his little copse, to flush out partridges and hares, and sometimes he is too heartsick for company to deny them, but tonight he is freezing, and his chest is heavy with anger. He swings the axe upon his shoulder and goes towards the noise, wading through the underbrush, following the bay of a hound, and the sharp whistle of its master.

"Oy!" he calls out, and hears the noises stop. "These are my woods, mine by gift of the King, and if you've felled some hart or hare I'll take my share of it!"

"Fuck off!" comes the answering call, and laughter, and the retreating sound of footsteps. The panting of a dog, disappearing into the brush.

He wants to return to the cottage, where at least he has the illusion of warmth. But he heard the crush of the branches, and the hound's eager signal. The hunter had found something, and he needn't even fully butcher it tonight. The cold will keep it well so long as he bleeds it and takes out the entrails, and, heartened by the thought of a warm meal come morning, Hob pushes through the darkening woods, following broken twigs by the light of the rising moon.

When he comes upon the clearing, the silver gleam of the tumbling stars casts it all in shades of cream and starkly alarming shadow, but even in the dimness he can make out the small body in the center, and smell the hot tang of blood.

"Oh," he says softly, and lets the axe fall from his hand. No hart, nor hare, nor even a fat partridge. Only a raven, glossy and nacred black, thrashing weakly in the rotting leaves of winter. An arrow through its wing. "Poor thing. Sweet little thing. It's all right."

He could snap its neck, he thinks. The meat would be gamey and thin, but even leather, boiled long enough, will make a tolerable soup. And surely it would be a blessing, to put it from its misery. A raven with a single wing cannot fly. A raven that cannot fly is not a raven.

Still, when he goes to it, and kneels beside it in the dark, he reaches not for its neck, but for its tiny, heaving breast. "Hush," he croons, and strokes a finger through its downy feathers. "It's all right. Let's get that out of you."

The arrow is black-fletched, perhaps the reason a hunter would bother to shoot a raven in the first place. Needless fancy, when goose feathers fly straight and true, and afterwards one can eat the goose besides. But the shaft of the arrow is wood, the same as any other, and easily snapped. The raven writhes and croaks, miserable, pained, and blood dampens Hob's hands as he pulls the broken arrow from its seat. He can see the white flash of bone, and the blood that slicks the ground turns dark as the loam of the earth under the rising moon.

"Christ's nails," he says, and the raven turns its head, its eye a perfect, black little button, its mouth open and panting. It makes no attempt to flee, not by wing and not by foot. The ravens in London are uncommonly clever, he thinks -- perhaps this is one of them, blown far off course. Perhaps it senses that he tries to help.

He has no healing salves, nor needle and thread to try and stitch the wound closed, and no knowledge of birds' wings, besides. But he has his tunic, worn but clean. Hob takes up his knife from his hip, and begins to cut long strips from the bottom of his tunic, until he has a loose coil of woolen cloth, and a hole that bares his belly to winter's bite. Gooseflesh raises on every inch of his arms, and he shivers.

"This is my only tunic," he tells the raven. "I hope it brings you some comfort." He puts back his knife, and peels the raven's wing apart from its body, stretching out the pinions full and beautiful, long and slender as fingers. Blood oozes sluggishly from the wound and, one-handed, Hob begins to wind the strip of wool around the shape of the raven's wing, tight as he dares, until red spots it through, but, at least, no longer waters the barren earth.

When he ties off the cloth, the raven yanks its wing back, and tilts its head at Hob. Birds cannot have expressions, but if he were to label it so, he would say the thing was confused. Alarmed. Considering.

Then it shakes its sleek little head, the ruffed beard at its throat puffing out. When it croaks, it almost sounds like a word.

Name, the raven rasps. Name, name, and Hob laughs.

"Funny little thing," he says. "You've spent much time around humans, then. Maybe you are one of London's ravens. Hob Gadling is my name, for what good it does me. If the winter gets much colder, it will accompany me to my grave. No coin for food, nor clothes, nor nails to patch the king's cottage." His laughter turns bitter in his mouth, and he cuts it off before it can become a scream, or worse, a sob. "But I can help a raven. If I do nothing else in this life, I can do a few kindnesses before I go. To make up for all the men I've killed."

The raven tilts its head, back and forth, and back and forth. It fluffs out its feathers, and rights itself upon the ground. It's a fine-looking bird, he thinks. Thin, but so beautifully feathered that one can hardly tell at first glance. The down of its chest and wing had been softer than a woman's breast, and Hob thinks of his straw mattress, and his cold, thin blanket, and wonders if the raven will make it through the night.

"I'd keep you, if you'd let me," he offers, feeling foolish for speaking so candidly to a wild bird. The raven blinks its liquid eyes at him. "The nights are longer and lonelier than ever, and I've no wife to warm me at home. But a raven is a fine companion. And I've got some bread and salt beef left that I can share." He offers it his wrist, expecting nothing.

When the bird steps lightly up, spreading out its wings to balance, he feels some small ember kindle in his breast.

"All right," he says, and dares to try and stroke the raven's throat with his finger. It tolerates him for a moment, seeming as surprised as Hob, and then snips at him with its beak. "Cheeky thing. Pretty thing. Will you be mine, then?"

The raven tilts its dear little head. Blood has oozed through the bandage around its wing, a startling red exclamation against off-white wool.

Mine, it croaks. Mine.

And Hob laughs, and tucks the little thing against his chest to shield it from the wind. His axe he leaves buried to its haft in cold soil. He will return come morning to fetch it. For now, he will make do with the wood he's chopped, and hope it burns the night through. If not for his sake, then for the raven.

And if he passes in the night from cold, well. He hopes the raven makes use of him then, too. It would only be fitting.

The stars are falling still, when Hob trudges through the darkened woods towards his cottage. They gleam like specks of dew on morning grass; they fall like snowflakes in the depths of winter, and in the raven's eyes they reflect in silver splendor, a dozen times refracted into an endless night-blooming sky.

#dreamling #the crane wife #hob gadling #dream of the endless #ask response #the sandman #fanfic

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normal-enderman · 1 year ago

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Welcome to my blog! I am a multifandom artist, writer, and animator :3

LOOK AT MY COOL ANIMATION!!!!

EPIC 3D MODEL!!!!

I am the instigator of frazzled charlie slimecicle secretary in a pencil skirt dash events. you're welcome <3

Fandoms I participate in order of autism intensity:

Just Roll With It: Riptide (MAXIUM AUTISM) (I LOVE GILLION TIDESTRIDER) (STOP SANITISING CHIP HE'S SEXIST AND THAT'S PART OF HIS CHARACTER) (HEE HOO) (I FUCKING HATE FILIPE)

Just Roll With It: Wonderlust (troy troy troy troy troy troy troy troy troy troy troy troy troy troy troy troy troy)

Just Roll With It in general (HIGH AUTISM)

Ranboo Live (MODERATE AUTISM) (I'm usually not a hater but when it comes to bootwt I'm a hater. I hate you guys. Log off)

The DreamSMP (ETERNAL AUTISM) (I DONT SUPPORT ANY OF THE ABUSERS I JUST LIKE CBEEDUO)

MLP (MODERATE AUTISM)

My Hero Academia (RE-EXPLORING MY TEENAGE AUTISM)

I keep accidentally making banger takes about jrwi members

The creator of the legendary (not really) "I thought Condifiction was a trans woman" post I just changed my url after bc it was too easy for people who knew me irl to find me

I post on ao3 once in a blue moon. I've been more inspired recently, so more writing may be on the horizon

⚠ I have been known to write smut ⚠ so keep that in mind if you are not comfortable with that sort of thing. But of course I will make it very clear if any fics I publish contain mature content!

Dividers by @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune !

Tagging

#my writing - my writing

#my art - my art

#my sketches - my doodles, sketches, and rough works

#asks - asks

#pretty art - people's art which might not be related to something im interested in but i still think its cool

#fav - stuff which i think is important, interesting, or beloved

#memes - memes

#animals - cute animals

it was my rp account but I was involved i swear

#my art #my writing #asks #my sketches

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sapphic-asymmetries · 3 months ago

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10 Characters, 10 Fandoms

RULES: list your ten favorite characters from ten separate fandoms, then tag ten people. (I'm tagging fewer because so many of my mutuals just plain don't log on anymore </3)

I was tagged by @loumauve !

Okay SO in no particular order:

Athena (Battlestar Galactica)

Tina a.k.a Tiny Tina a.k.a. Crunk Bunny (Borderlands Series)

The Wanderer (Magic the Gathering)

Jesse Faden (Control)

Claudia Donovan (Warehouse 13)

Dutch a.k.a. Yalena "Yala" Yardeen (Killjoys)

Captain Kathryn Janeway (Star Trek: Voyager)

Tonkee (Broken Earth Trilogy)

Dreamer a.k.a. Nia Nal (DC Comics)

Ikrie (Horizon: Zero Dawn)

@telumendils @nuka-rockit

#The one-character-per-fandom really made me think #There are SO MANY cool characters!#It has taken so much self-control to not to type all of them for the relevant fandoms #but I am strong!

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nancydrewwouldnever · 1 year ago

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Now we have Steve and Scott joining in on the baiting the fandom in Portugal....can we have a "theEvansareover" party because this is includes every single person in this Boston baby club at this point 🙄

I don't agree that this is baiting. It's posting pics for his partner's birthday. Did you expect Scott not to be at a big life moment of his brother's? If you're angry about Steve posting them, you may need to log out for a while, step back, take a breather. To be honest, to me, recent postings make it look like a ramp up to more posts and pics on the horizon. If you're not emotionally prepared for that, maybe take a small break from the fandom for a while. Remember, your well-being and mental health is far more important than online celebrity gossip.

#ask

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across-violet-skies · 6 months ago

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finals were awful, here's a new fic!!

this one is more experimental than my usual stuff but eh

preview under the cut!!!

A gentle ocean breeze brought salty air up past the beachfront, calmly dragging the oceanic scent past trees and rocks. The sun beat down; warm, tropical heat hazing along the sand as crabs scuttled along the waterline.

Beyond the palms, two figures sat on an overturned log. Soft, flowing red hair interrupted by a pink hibiscus beside blond with pink tips partially covered by a blue cap, staring out beyond the waves with smiles too wide for their faces.

“Link… I love you.”

Link grinned, offering his hand. “I love you too, Marin. You’re perfect.”

She giggled, taking his hand with a shy grin. “Aww, you flatter me!” Marin leaned in, eyes crinkled with joy as she kissed his cheek. “You’re perfect too,” she whispered, staying close to him.

Link blushed, mirthful lavender eyes staring into her gorgeous brown ones. A pale thumb brushed over the back of a tan hand, caressing the soft skin there. He exhaled, leaning in to kiss Marin as the sun set over the endless horizon.

“Legend!”

Hyrule made a noise of frustration, grabbing at his hair. He paced back and forth, brows pinched in panic. To his side lay Legend, unresponsive. They had been separated from the group and ambushed by a hoard of Wizzrobes and spellcasters, from Wild and Hyrule’s eras, respectively. Legend had been struck down in battle by a strange blast from one of the spellcasters, leaving him in his current state.

He had taken that blast to protect Hyrule. And with those spellcasters coming from the traveler’s era, there was no telling what the Vet had been hit with.

“Agh!” Hyrule exclaimed, pulling at his hair as he squeezed his eyes shut. “What do I do, what do I do…”

-> read the rest on ao3!

#linked universe #lu legend #lu marin #lu hyrule #linked universe fanfic #ao3 #riv writes

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kanafinwe-makalaure · 1 year ago

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Sometimes I think about all the guest kudos I have ever gotten on AO3 and wonder - how many people, maybe people who are new to fandom, have read my fics and smiled? How many people have come to A03 from my Tumblr? Has one of my fics ever been the first fic someone has ever read? Has anyone ever joined fandom because of one of my silly little fics? Read one of my fics on their phone under the dinner table or their desk at school or work?

Probably not. Maybe? I don't know who these people are; now many anonymous "guests" are different people? How many are the same person, reading through all my stuff? How many are people with an account that loved the fic so much they logged out just to leave another kudos?

I just went on AO3 and locked all my fics, making them only available for registered users. No more guests. It makes me sad; it feels like saying goodbye to all these faceless, happy little people who have found my stuff and left behind a fleeting trace of their essence to let me know they read something of mine and it made them smile. (Or cry? I don't know. They're just kudos.) It makes me sad saying goodbye to them, but I don't want the soul of my works, my soul, fed to AI. Mindless, devouring monster without a heart, black cloud of toxic fog darkening the bright horizon.

#anti ai writing #anti ai art #fan fiction is not content!#it is art #it has a soul!#don't treat it like that #don't desecrate the creative process like that

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izzy-the-fox · 5 months ago

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Hi! I'm izzy!

My main blog: @belabeya

My online "aroace military blog: @the-aroace-attackers

pronouns: https://en.pronouns.page/@belabeya

I am a coping linker, other paw and furry.

My fursona is a wolpertinger

I link a cozumel Island Fox, Grey Fox, and Black Wolf.

I am an aroace demi-girl (aegoromantic apothisexual)

I am a minor between 13 and 16

I'm writinga. 100000 word novel

I'm open to asks but would prefer only mutuals dm me

This is a SAFE place for anyone in the therian, furry, other kin, alterhuman, queer, trans or any others

DNI

Homophobes

Transphobes

Aphobes

Zoophiles

Paedophiles

Assholes

And don't interact if your going to be rude

I like most rock and emo bands to be honest.

I love mcr, fob,paramore, sleeping with sirens, the getaway plan, the insane Clown Posse, green day, p!atd, gorillas, Melanie Martinez, autumn j, system of a down, slipknot, falling in reverse, all time low, the script, mad tsai, Jorge rivera-herrans, Kate bush, The crane wives, Conan Gray.

☆☆♡Måneskin♡☆☆

☆☆♡Ezekial Flowers♡☆☆

☆☆♡sylvan6strings♡☆☆

I play clarinet, piano and violin, want to learn oboe and ocarina

My favourite streamer:

☆☆▪︎Xtraliana▪︎☆☆

FANDOMS young royals

Fnaf

Mha

Pjo/hoo/toa/tsats

Demon slayer

Black cliver

Log horizon

Eden zero

Hazbin hotel

Helluvaboss

Wings of fire

Warrior cats

Voltron

Making dragon puppets

Funny stuff

Deltora quest

Hunger games

Stranger things

Umbrella academy

Avatar the last airbender

Legend of zelda

Heartstopper

I Love drawing!

Have a good day!

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just4notherd4ydre4mer · 1 year ago

Text

INTRODUCTION + IMP. RULES & INFO

Usually, I'd make things look pretty. But tbh... Idk how to use tumblr at all. Forgive me. I'm not familiar with a lot of the terms on here :'')

Maybe I'll make this aesthetic later?? Rlly lazy and tumblr is confusing.

My username is subject to change anytime to anything, from somewhat thought out or even just keyboard smash. Bcs I'm beyond indecisive.

Also, I'm not new to writing fanfics and what not... but yknow, let's NOT talk abt the past.

[ BASIC INFO]

Call me whatever u want -- Anything works tbh though.

I'm a minor. That alone sets some basic ground rules ig... right?

Uh... I decided to start using tumblr bcs im bored. Like rlly bored. I'm am %100 going to be either very active or inactive. (short bursts of motivation lol)

What I do? I draw. I wouldn't say that I'm a beginner but I want to start sharing my progress (probably wont tho bcs... tik tok has traumatized me. Let's go with that...) But, here I am :) I also write. Whether it be my own original stories or fanfics.

Requests for both are welcome! (options listed below)

[ KEY ]

◍ - Manga/Manwha/WEBTOON … etc

○ - Anime

◐ - Dramas

▿ - Games

❥ - Current Fixation (always up to date)

[ I will usually only take requests for ❥... but you never know, so ask away! Rules are at the bottom of this post ]

FANDOMS (a-z)

•Attack on Titan ~ ○

•Black Clover ~ ❥ ○

•Blue Lock ~ ❥○

•Free! ~ ○

•Full Metal Alchemist ~ ○

•Golden Kamuy ~ ❥○

•Haikyuu! ~ ○

• Hunter x Hunter ~ ○

•Komi Can't Communicate ~ ◍ ○

•Kuruko’s Basketball ~ ○

•Log Horizon ~ ○

•Magi (+Includes AoS) ~ ○

•My Clueless First Friend ~ ○

•My Hero Academia ~ ○

•My Star! (Oshi No Ko) ~ ○

•Pokemon ~ ❥▿

•Saiki K. ~ ○

•School Babysitters ~ ○

•Seraph of the End ~ ❥ ◍ ○

•Skip & Loafer ~ ❥ ○

•Snow White with the Red Hair ~ ❥ ◍ ○

•Soul Eater ~ ○

•World Trigger ~ ❥ ○

•Weak Hero ~ ❥ ◍ ◐ (I've watched the kdrama... I just dont have access to it anymore).

/this could get REAL long so I didn’t include a lot… If you’re interested in one that isn’t listed, feel free to ask if I’ve watched/read it :) /

P.S: I’ve seen lots of the more popular/mainstream animes (movies too) but just didn’t list them.

EDIT: I've decided to link my finished animes.

[ GROUND RULES ]

No NSFW (obviously)

Constructive Criticism? Lovely. Mocking or being blatantly mean? Please don't. I'll be honest, I'm sensitive LOL.

If you want to request, please leave it under the respective post that I make for what is listed. (if there isn't a linked post for that, put it here and I'll make one <3)

Don't be concerned if I disappear. I'm literally making this out of whatever motivation I have left of the week. A spur of the moment thing is going on :'D

---

Again, I have absolutely NO idea what im doin... im bored, it's summer rn. Speaking of which, if I do ever actually post and follow up with whatever requests may or may not come my way -- the moment the school year starts again, either I'll be spam posting my brainrotting ideas or I will just never be seen again :)

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ojerasgigantes · 2 months ago

Text

At the Edge of the Woods

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Any Archive Warnings

Category: Gen

Fandoms: Gravity Falls, Over The Garden Wall

Characters: Wirt, Dipper Pines

Additional Tags: Beast Wirt, Aged-Up Character(s), Bad End Friends, Older Dipper Pines, Dipper Pines is a Mess, Aged-Up Wirt (Over the Garden Wall), First Meetings, One Shot, Dark Wirt, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover

Words: 3.1k

Summary:

Wirt has been wandering endlessly in the Edelwoods as the new lantern barer to the point where he knows it like the back of his hand. Imagine his surprise when he finds himself in an area of the woods that is completely unfamiliar to him.

Ao3 link

It’s a brittle night, as it perpetually is. The lines of trees that surround him, tall and with branches that intertwine impossibly tight, cast shadows deep enough on the ground that to the common eye it looks like a void.

Although, there is no-one with a common eye wandering in the woods at the moment. No, he would know if there was.

A howl can be heard in the distance, echoey and melodic, easily mistakable with an instrument. Old tales speak of it, spooky campfire stories now, when before they were tols as warnings. Some children would hear the sound, and with curious eyes and greedy ears, get lost in the woods looking for its source. None of these children are ever seen again. Their bodies would mingle with the earth of the forest, their skins would become hard as bark, and their blood as black as the oil that lights lanterns.

However, those who are clever know that that's just the wind traveling through the leaves. That it’s just the siren call of the woods.

Wirt adjusts his cloak as he attempts to shelter himself from the wind. Not that it helps, exactly.

It has been a decade, at least that’s how long he thinks it has been, since he could properly get his coat to make him warm. To get himself warm at all. Even if he places his hand directly on a fire, he will not feel the heat of the flame. He can, however, feel the agonizing pain of his skin boiling. He found that the hard way.

Wirt’s long hair gets on his face as the wind blows strongly, and the lantern in his hand sways, but Wirt doesn’t pay attention to it. He knows that it won’t go out.

The tree branches stretch and creak, reaching for him as he walks silently between them. Wirt feels them as they graze his antlers, some of them trying to wrap themselves around it, only for them to glide away easily. Almost like their pleading for mercy.

In the horizon, between the foliage above him, he can see faint light starting to creep through. Dawn is approaching, and he has been carrying the logs of the edelwood in his back for almost the whole night. The woods are dense and seem impossibly big, and unfortunately, Wirt still can only manage to chop down a few of them before he has to turn back to his cabin.

He only needs to go out to do so once every couple of weeks, the oil lasts long enough that it is not necessary to do so every night.

Still, something always calls to him in the woods. Even though he has plenty of oil, whenever he is sitting down in his cabin, he feels an itch under his skin. An uncomfortable pain settles over, and he feels restless.

You’ll be cursed to walk aimlessly, eternally in this wicked woods. Was what the Woodsman had said before he had accepted the Beast’s deal.

Not to let Greg live and for Wirt to be the lantern keeper that maintains his soul alive.

But to let Greg go, and for him to get home safely. And in exchange, the Beast gets to reside in tranquility inside Wirt, while Wirt has to feed him for however long the it deemed it just.

Of Course, as the years passed, and as less Wirt felt like himself, the more he realized that that day may never come. His name only stuck to him because it was familiar, although he felt himself becoming more detached to it as the days passed.

This seemingly endless area of woodlands was some sort of purgatory, Wirt had decided after the first few years as the new lantern keeper. All the people who reside in this liminal place had been alive at one point, and for one reason or the other, had ended here.

It had been long enough for them to forget who they were, what they were doing here, and how much time it had passed. They relied on the comfort of their ignorance. Blissfully unaware of the truth, and happily conforming to their new roles in the quaint towns they had built at the edge of the forest.

For him this was something else entirely.

Wirt had to be standing on the border between limbo and hell.

A hell he had brought upon himself. Where he was forced to be the guardian of the Edelwoods, damned to prey upon those who got lost on its labyrinth.

The sentiment of guilt that came with it had long faded away.

The sunlight shines on Wirts eyes and he blinks as he is pulled out of his thoughts. The trees have become taller somehow, and their leaves more sparse. It makes him stop on his tracks.

Wirt doesn’t think he has ever been in this part of the forest.

He slowly turns, trying to get his bearings. The sun seems to be in the position it’s supposed to be, just risen. The sky is pink, and there is a thin fog laying at the bottom of the trees.

For a second, Wirt's heart races, and his hands come up to feel at his head. The disappointment he feels once his fingers touch the bark of his antlers is dull and harsh, but fleeting.

Now that that possibility is gone, Wirt gives his surroundings a proper look over. Suspicious, he approaches one of the trees, and notices it is not an Edelwood.

Confused, he continues walking, his steps still quiet. He hides the lantern under his cloak just in case, as he isn’t sure what or who he could encounter here.

A branch cracks somewhere to his right and he freezes.

His head clocks to the side as he tries to listen carefully, and doesn’t move an inch.

After a couple of minutes, he starts hearing a rhythmic crunch of dry leaves being stepped on.

Someone is walking around, and they are not that far away.

Like the monster he became those years ago, he slithers slowly towards the sound, camouflaging himself with the shadows these unfamiliar trees provide.

He traverses some bushes, ending up behind a particularly thick tree once he comes out the other side.

Wirt's eyes land on the source of the sound and he stills.

A young man is walking expertly through the area. Eyes wandering around, alert and wary. He is wearing a cap and hiking gear. He carries a full backpack, as well as a dense and heavy red book securely under his arm. A map is open on his hand, and he stares at it intermittently.

Wirt follows him with his eyes. The man is far away enough that if he were to look his way, he would just see a shadow. But Wirt still falls back into the darkness, so he can stay undetected.

The book the man is carrying catches his attention. It has the number 4 on the front in golden color. There is an energy to it, something that makes Wirt skin prickle with discomfort.

The man starts getting farther from him, and Wirt follows from a safe distance, making sure that he doesn’t stray away from the shade.

They walked in tandem as the daylight creeped up slowly and swept away the morning fog.

It’s only after a few minutes passes that Wirt suddenly realizes they have been walking in circles.

He inspects the man’s demeanor, and notices he looks tense, his arms still to the side, fists curled up harshly. He can see the sweat forming at the back of his neck, and Wirt can hear the quick intakes of breath he makes every other minute, uneven and nervous.

He knows he is being followed.

The man stops walking, and Wirt recedes to the closest tree. His figure tenses even more, and the man’s foot looks like it’s trembling, itching to move. His instincts are probably telling him to run.

Before Wirt can react, the man turns fast, and looks around, a panic settling behind his eyes.

Wirt notices the deep eye bags, and the unkept patchy beard. They are someone who hasn’t really been taking care of themselves for what seems to be a long time.

The man’s frantic eyes land on the shadow he is hiding in, and Wirt stops breathing all together.

“Show yourself!” He shouts, his voice loud and confident.

Even when he is clearly hyperventilating. Even when his hands clutch at the straps of his backpack for dear life.

Wirt keeps still, unsure of what to do. Unsure that he can even perceive him.

The man doesn’t look away, even taking too long to blink.

“I know you are following me!” He says, “I don’t know who or what you are, but I know you are there.”

The man points his index finger at him, accusingly.

“So, come out!” He demands, voice stable, even when his finger is shaking. “I’ve seen so much weird shit in this forest, you will not be the one to surprise me.”

Curiosity peaks in his brain at the last statement. The man too, is a wanderer of the woods. Wirt wonders if he is in a similar situation to him. If these woods are a different type of prison.

Without wanting to mull about it any further, Wirt steps out of the shadows.

Immediately, the man gasps and he takes a few hefty steps back, almost tripping. His widened eyes jump frantically between his antlers, and his long cloak that blends with the soil at his feet.

But once they land on his eyes, it seems that he gets stuck on them. Wirt knows what they look like, the colors, their brightness, their uncanny way of swaying inside like the wind blows through them. He knows how hypnotic they are, how difficult it is to stare away.

Wirt clocks his head to the side as he sees the man stumble backwards a few steps more, his breath coming out shakily.

“Wh- What-“ The man stutters and struggles to speak. “What are you?”

It has been so long since someone spoke to him, that Wirt forgets he has to answer back. The woodsman used to keep him company, but the more monstrous he became, the less he saw of him, until he just stopped visiting all together.

“Answer me!” The man demands.

Wirt blinks and his eyes fall to the notebook under his arm.

The man notices this, and immediately hugs the book closer to his chest, defensive.

“No.” He says, shaking his head, “you can’t have this.”

Wirt wasn’t thinking of asking for it. But if it was sought after, then maybe it was valuable to have it. He takes in the protective hold the man has on the book, knuckles white with the strength behind it.

A pensive hum escapes from Wirt, and the sound jumps around them, echoing in the isolated area that they are in.

The man looks around him, as if he didn’t know that the sound came from the creature in front of him, and this confuses Wirt.

“Are you also a woods keeper?” Wirt finally speaks, and he hasn’t heard his own voice in years, so the rumble that travels in the air does surprise him.

The man gapes at him, frowning. His stance relaxes just a tad, the grip on the book lessening.

“Woods keeper?” The man asks, seemingly bewildered by the question, “N- no. I’m just someone… ah- someone who is hiking. A passer by.”

The man is lying.

Wirt lets it slide, not sure why he would do so.

A wind blows between them, and the howl is so different from the one he is used to that it makes Wirt survey the trees around him.

“Where are we?” He asks.

A long while must have passed before he spoke again, because the man jumps at his voice.

The man straightens up, his guard down now. Both of his arms lower, the peculiar book goes back under his arm. He blinks and his frown deepens, his eyes explore Wirt’s figure, as if he is trying to decipher him.

Wirt counts the heart beats coming from him as he waits for his answer.

The man shakes his head, as if trying to dispel a thought.

“This is the Gravity Falls forest.” The man says, as if it’s supposed to be a name that is familiar to Wirt.

When Wirt doesn’t say anything, the man fumbles to explain more.

“Oregon?” He offers, “The United States of America?”

Now, those are names that tug at the strings of his memory. Wirt knows those places, but isn’t sure if they are from a story he heard long ago, or if they should be of more importance to him.

“You are not from around here.” The man states.

“No.”

The man reels back at the quickness of his answer, but doesn’t seem more afraid than before.

“Well, you seem to fit in perfectly.” The man says, and then forces an uncomfortable chuckle, as if it is something funny. But Wirt doesn’t get the joke.

The silence that spreads between them seems to make the man anxious, and he coughs awkwardly to fill it.

“Anyway, you never said what you are, and I have never read about a creature like you in my- I mean… in- in mythology! And in tales.” The man speaks fast, nervous.

Wirt knows he is hiding something, but ponders what he said.

The word creature seems to be correct for what he is. He stopped being human long ago, and he knows he is not The Beast per se. He is something in between, and altogether new.

He wonders what he would be. And his name dances around in his mind, even though it feels foreign. It’s the only answer that he can come up with, the label that feels closest to what he is.

“Wirt.” He settles with.

“Wirt?” The man echoes his name, and it feels like that name shouldn’t belong to him, like the man is speaking about a stranger. “Are there many… Wirts ?”

“No.” Wirt answers. “Only me.”

The man nods and opens his notebook. He pulls a pencil out of one of his man pockets and starts writing something down on the pages.

Curious about it, Wirt slithers around and stops behind him, wanting to see what he is scribbling so methodically in it. Wirt only gets close enough to be able to peek behind his head, before the man abruptly looks up and then turns.

He yelps, the book almost falling from his hand, and quickly creates distance between them.

“Jesus Christ.” He exclaims, and his hand flies to clutch at his chest. Wirt can hear his heart rate spiking.

The man stares at him up and down, before looking back at the open pages of his book and then back at Wirt again.

“You seem… awfully curious about my notebook.” The man says, defensive again.

Wirt hums, stepping closer again.

“I can feel it.” Wirt says.

“Feel it?” He repeats it to himself before closing the notebook.

He brings it close to his face, inspecting it. The man sniffs it, pets it with his hand, and then licks its spine.

As Wirt watches the man’s odd behavior, he feels amusement for the first time in a decade.

This weird man, looking for something in these woods, who seems to know about oddities like Wirt, and is carrying a notebook that feels like it holds significance, is someone who, more than afraid, is hungry for knowledge.

Wirt wonders, even if he is not like him, if the man has some importance to this forest.

“Who are you?” Wirt finally asks.

The man falters in the probing of his own notebook.

“Oh. That was very impolite of me.” The man chastises himself, “I’m Dipper.”

“What are you doing in these woods, Dipper. ” Wirt emphasizes his name, and Dipper flinches.

“Um- I told you-”

“You were lying.” Wirt says, simply.

The calm demeanor that Dipper had is replaced with the same apprehension he had at the beginning of their conversation. Wirt can see him break into cold sweat, as he knows that his ability to detect his deceit has greatly unsettled him.

“Don’t lie again.” Wirt adds, and even though he didn’t mean it as a threat, he knows it sounded like one.

Dipper gulps and nods quickly.

“Sorry, I-” He starts saying, and the longer he talks that faster he does it, “I’m doing something that it’s not exactly advisable, and if I run into the wrong… thing … all my work will go into nothing. And I really need to do this in order to finish my research, and I can’t be stopped, or derailed by other situations.”

Wirt doesn’t care for his excuses, really. He just really wants to satisfy his curiosity. So, he stands there and doesn’t say anything, waiting for Dipper to finish his ramble.

“Anyways, I’m looking for a monument…” Dipper admits. “Maybe you have seen it?” He adds, hopeful.

Wirt shakes his head.

Dipper seems like he wants to say something else, but Wirt hears the howl of the wind again. Familiar, this time, and extremely loud.

Wirt turns towards the sound, abruptly and alert. But finds nothing except more of the unfamiliar trees behind him.

Suspicious, he squints at them, trying to see if anything is amiss, but nothing seems to stand out to him. He is so enrapt with inspecting the area behind him, that he doesn’t notice that he can no longer feel Dipper’s presence.

It couldn't have been more than a couple of seconds, but when he turns his head back towards where Dipper was supposed to be, he isn’t there.

Instead he sees the dark expanse of the woods he has gotten to know so well, the Edelwoods staring back at him expectantly, as if waiting for Wirt to do something.

Taken aback, he whirls around, trying to get his bearings, but only finds more of those wicked trees around him.

He is back in the woods he keeps.

Not sure if he should feel despair or relief, he fishes for the lantern he kept under his cloak, just to make sure it’s there. The light is as bright as always, the metal untainted, and unharmed.

He sighs deeply, asking himself what type of trick was just pulled on him. If this Dipper guy had just been a hallucination caused by his isolation, or if it was an illusion made by the woods to taunt him.

The idea that it had all been a ploy to get him to think that he was no longer alone, made him feel desperate in a way that felt fictitious. Wirt didn’t feel things like these anymore, they were tethered and separate from him.

Wirt decides to continue his path towards his cabin, ignoring the tumultuous thoughts in his head. And actively choosing to not give the woods the satisfaction of his hopelessness.

And as he walks through the dark forest, he swears he can hear the difference in the way the wind sings to him.

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u5an5 · 3 months ago

Text

New Horizons - Leaving Jacobs' Journal and SCP : Sedition

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[START LOG]*

Crime:

Hey everyone! I'm going to try and keep this short and sweet. After trying to remedy production issues with both Jacobs’ journal and SCP - Sedition, I've decided to leave the projects. In part this is due to real life getting in the way, but also because of creative differences I had with the team. I've also left the team as a result, but let me just state before anyone reads into this - I hold no ill will towards Tats TopVideos for what has become an amicable departure.

To cut a long story short, we'd been having trouble keeping up with the demand for Sedition combined with the time and effort it took to animate long episodes for the series. I had come up with several formatting compromises, which would have honestly been an improvement to the overall quality of the show. However, I was informed that the ultimate decision was to return to an Ask SCP format only - just asking SCPs questions and cutting out the plot and character elements that we had begun to explore.

Though they said I could continue writing for the series, I decided that the team didn't need me to write for an Ask SCP format, and that while it may have been good to continue writing scripts, the fact that a lot of the elements I'd helped build into Sedition would no longer be pursued was a bit of a blow. It didn't feel right touching it after this, so I left the project. Left the team and… decided I wouldn't be contributing anymore after SCP-343 part 2's conclusion. Jacobs and McCrimmon will be written out, and Amnesty too will have her plot draw to a close,leaving Watch to do what he does best - interview SCPs.

Don't get me wrong, I- I don't dislike the Ask SCP format, but I had a vision of Sedition that we would no longer be pursuing and that's a fair enough decision on the part of the team. Tats was the other half of that show, she took those scripts and made masterpieces out of them, some of the best moments like the neck snapping scene, that- the clipboard floating in mid-air. All the little physical details she added to Sedition gave that show life. I will wholly appreciate what she did to the end of time, so. Her decision on this show mattered a lot to me, even after this we’re still very close friends.

This is simply a clash of creative interests that came about for very valid reasons. If they feel the best way to continue moving forward is to cut out unnecessary grind, then I wish them all the best for that new direction. I encourage you all to watch it and see how you feel, not based on what I've said, but based on how the new format appeals to you.

In the end, I'm just looking towards the future and where my content will go from here. I have some immediate plans, involving follow-up videos to this one where I explain in detail how events in Jacobs’ Journal and Sedition would have unfolded to both series. Perceived conclusions, or at least until the plot Arc for this Sedition, ran out and we'd probably have gone back to another SCP format anyway, but trust me when I say, it certainly wasn't as soon as it turned out to be. To cover all the plot in Jacobs’ Journal would only take a single episode, but to cover all things in Sedition, it'll definitely be a multi-part series of videos.

There are a lot of loose and even untugged threads to pull. I know a lot of fans are dedicated to digging deep into the goings on of each video, dissecting the actions and dialogue of the characters, particularly those of you who wanted to explore the expanded universe and found yourselves… here. We didn't expect the reaction to Sedition we got in the end, and the massive following we gained from it, which was extremely humbling. So, I didn't want to have you committing yourselves to these stories and characters without knowing the ending, so I hope that by releasing these videos it'll allow that chunk of the fandom some closure, maybe even giving me some of that closure too.

Ultimately, I want to try and bring my original content to the channel; stuff that isn't tied to another fan base, like SCP. This may also upset a few of you who are specifically subscribed to me for that SCP content, but I feel it is best for me to move away from it, so I'm not… typecast or tied down to one genre or thing. I have a few projects I'd be happy to share - books, games, graphic novels I have in the works and any other content I'll suggest later. But please, feel free to leave your suggestions of where you'd like to see me go from here, and I'll see what works best for me.

Thank you so much to everyone who was stuck by me through Sedition, and I hope that you'll continue to do so once my contributions have concluded. I hope my original content will manage to excite and entice you as everything I've done so far.

But until next time, stay safe and keep your creative passions burning.

[END LOG]

*This is an attempt at transcribing video linked in title. I am NOT the aurhor of the chanel and I did NOT participate in creation of SCP: Sedition or Jacobs' Journal series in any way.

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#pcrime posting #scp sedition #jacobs journal #scp

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